


A Matter of Perspective

by chains_archivist



Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Angst, Boys in Chains, M/M, Originally Published in Zine, Prison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-20 19:32:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3662313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chains_archivist/pseuds/chains_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>by Rushlight</p><p>Qui and Obi spend the night before their intended execution discovering what is truly important to them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Matter of Perspective

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Dusk, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [Boys in Chains](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Boys_in_Chains), which opened in 2000 as a multifandom archive for both fiction and art, but then sadly went offline in 2005. To bring the archive back, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in December 2014. Open Doors [posted an announcement](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/1832) and e-mailed all creators about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please [contact the Open Doors committee](http://transformativeworks.org/contact/open%20doors).  
> \--  
> Notes: This story was first published in the "Living Force" zine, in August 2000

Obi-Wan winced at the sharp sting of pain in his split lip and huddled deeper into the warmth of his robe. Outside the narrow window of the cell, rain fell in an unceasing monotone of clattering sound, pinging loudly off of the metallic roofs below them. The breeze that blew in through the open bars of the window was frigid, although the night itself was mild. The sky was concealed behind a roiling blanket of purple-grey clouds, and when the thunder sounded, it seemed to shake the foundations of the world.  
  
"A wild night," Qui-Gon commented lightly, noticing the direction of his Padawan's attention. When Obi-Wan turned to look at him, he found his Master's gaze focused on the surging tempest outside the window. The lights in the cell were dim, watery, and when lightning flashed without warning, it illuminated the Jedi Master's sharply defined face in a sudden halo of radiance that was somehow painful to look upon. Obi-Wan squinted, but before he could look away, the light faded, and Qui-Gon's face was layered in shadows once again.  
  
"Yes." Obi-Wan pulled his robe even tighter around himself. He wished he could control the uncomfortable fear that was slithering through him, chilling his thoughts even as his body was cooled by the stinging touch of the wind.  
  
As prisons went, their cell was far from uncomfortable. Aside from the wind that wound its way in through the bars of the single window, the room was reasonably protected against the elements. There were no furnishings, so that they were forced to sit on the floor, but the cell was clean and relatively dry. Certainly Obi-Wan had spent time in more dismal places in his career as a Jedi.  
  
He couldn't quite bring himself to contemplate their reasons for being here. It was hard enough to accept the fact that he and his Master were scheduled to die come morning, the latest casualties in a civil war that had spanned millennia, without rehashing the events that had led them here. Despite his best efforts, however, his mind kept returning to the memories that he most wanted to avoid.  
  
The deep-rooted prejudices and hatreds inherent in the societal structure of the Ngalin system had been evident from the outset of the mission. Even so, Obi-Wan had been completely unprepared when the focus of that emotion shifted to the visiting Jedi delegates. It was something of an irony that the decision to execute the "outsiders" had been the single unifying moment in this system's entire, bloody history.  
  
In his pragmatic way, Qui-Gon had pointed out that their deaths, however unfortunate, would likely serve as a point of unification for the Ngalin people, and possibly give them the focus that they needed in order to finally find an end to their hostilities. It was not so easy for Obi-Wan to take such an unbiased view of their situation; even knowing that their deaths could possibly bring about an end to the conflict brought him small consolation, here on the bitter eve of their execution.  
  
"It will not help matters to dwell on them," Qui-Gon admonished gently, and there was a note to his voice that brought Obi-Wan's head around in surprise. Qui-Gon was the barest shape against the shadows at the far side of the small cell, his cowl pulled up to shield his head from the cold. In the dimness of their prison, his features looked unnatural, a tapestry of clinging light and shadow. Except for the eyes, which burned fiercely out of his bearded face, bright blue in the darkness. They seemed to be the only points of color in the entire room.  
  
Obi-Wan licked his lips nervously. His bottom lip stung where the guard had hit him, and he focused on the sensation as he tried to get his rampaging emotions under control. There was a feeling of momentous import to the evening, for various reasons, not the least of which was the fact that this was, in all likelihood, going to be the final night of his life. The feeling seemed to be carried in on the wings of the wind, and it echoed in the floor underneath him with each concussive rumble of the thunder.  
  
"What do you see when you look out there?" he asked suddenly, without knowing quite why he said it. He was unnerved by the unblinking intensity in Qui-Gon's eyes, and by the steady shield of serenity that his Master wore wrapped around him like a second cloak. It was especially unsettling to Obi-Wan, who felt the gibbering presence of hysteria pulsing at the edges of his thoughts. No matter his training in accepting the inevitable, he found that he could not face the prospect of his own imminent death with his Master's unshaking equanimity.  
  
Qui-Gon smiled, and the expression broke through some of the strangeness of his countenance, so that Obi-Wan felt himself warmed, slightly.  
  
"I see the future," the Jedi Master said after a moment. His voice was soft.  
  
Obi-Wan straightened where he sat against the wall, pulling his legs up in front of him. "I suppose there isn't much of it to see."  
  
Qui-Gon's smile turned wry. "It's not our future I'm looking at. I see the future of this system, and all the billions of lives that are going to be saved because of our sacrifice."  
  
Obi-Wan's gaze flickered toward the high window, and then back again. "You see all of that out there?"  
  
Qui-Gon nodded solemnly. "It's all a matter of how you look." After a moment, he added, "What do you see when you look out there?"  
  
Fighting off an unaccountable tingle of dread, Obi-Wan let his eyes move once again to the barred window and the storm-swept vista beyond. The sky looked swollen, bruised. It was a desolation, a nightmare realm given life and breath by the stinging sluice of the rain that was born out of it. There was a hint in it of laughter, but of a laughter more terrible than the violence of the storm, so lone and cold that the spirit of it was not even that of isolation. It whispered of things that were better left to the shadows: lost hopes, fears, shattered dreams. It whispered of the scorn death holds for all living things. "I see clouds," he reported dully, and tore his eyes away from the window with an effort.  
  
Qui-Gon was still smiling, but there was the faintest twinge of mockery to it now. "Are we reduced to this, my Padawan, on this night of all nights?" he asked, and the softness of the words carried more of a weight with them than the harshest reprimand could ever have done. "Be honest with me, Obi-Wan, even if you cannot be honest with yourself."  
  
Obi-Wan flushed darkly. He felt tears sting his eyes unexpectedly, and he blinked them back with an angry scowl. "I see our deaths," he ground out, forcing the words past the sudden lump in his throat.  
  
"And this makes you angry." It was not a question.  
  
"Yes, it makes me angry." There was no reason to hide it anymore.  
  
"Why?"  
  
The question startled him. He stared at Qui-Gon in shock for a moment, caught off guard by the frank honesty inherent in the query. "Are you telling me that you aren't angry?" He found it hard to believe, despite the completely unbreakable shell of calm that surrounded his Master. "Not even a little?"  
  
"No. Why would I be?"  
  
Again, Obi-Wan was shocked into silence. It was a couple of moments before he found the words to respond. "Are you saying that this doesn't bother you at all?"  
  
"I did not say that." And now Qui-Gon showed the first signs of emotion that had been evident in him since the mission began, shifting slightly against the wall where he sat and rearranging his robe around him to better seal out the cold. His gaze broke away from Obi-Wan's, and Obi-Wan felt bereft without that small contact between them.  
  
"Then what are you feeling?" It was not something that Obi-Wan would have had the courage to ask under normal circumstances, but their situation seemed to demand a subtle thinning of the walls between them. He and his Master had always been a seamless team, and Obi-Wan knew that they worked well together. Even so, there was a certain emotional distance between them that had been evident since their first meeting, before Qui-Gon had ever taken Obi-Wan on as his Padawan. It had not stopped them from becoming friends, or even family of a sort, but it had kept them both from forming any kind of emotional intimacy with one another. Now, for the very first time, Obi-Wan was made abruptly cognizant of what they had been missing.  
  
Qui-Gon sighed deeply, leaning his head back against the wall behind him. Instead of returning to Obi-Wan, his gaze moved to the window again.  
  
"I feel grieved, Padawan."  
  
Obi-Wan almost missed the quiet words, but the subdued intensity in them rocked him to the core. "You're sad," he whispered, before he even realized that he planned to speak the words aloud. Now Qui-Gon looked at him, and there was a depth of mourning in his eyes that was painful to see. This time when he smiled, it was a lingering, almost lost expression. "Yes, Padawan. I am sad."  
  
Somehow, this admission seemed worse than anger. Obi-Wan shifted again, stretching out his legs, and tried to ignore the steady rise of disquiet inside of him. "Why do you feel sad?" he asked after a moment, unable to meet his Master's eyes.  
  
The silence stretched on for what seemed a very long time, broken only by the rain and the steady hissing of the wind. Then Qui- Gon said, "I suppose I'm mourning all the things that will never have the chance to be."  
  
"You mean like my Knighting ceremony."  
  
A pause. "Yes."  
  
Obi-Wan said nothing else for a while, but then he felt compelled to say, "I'm feeling sad, too."  
  
A smile twitched at the corner of Qui-Gon's mouth, and his gaze moved to Obi-Wan again. "And why is that, Padawan?"  
  
Obi-Wan considered. "I suppose I'm mourning all the things that never had the chance to be, and should have."  
  
"I'm not sure I understand."  
  
"Well, for example, I've never told you how very thankful I am that you took me as your Padawan."  
  
Qui-Gon's gaze seemed to intensify for a moment, and his eyes were eerily radiant with the reflections of the falling rain. Then he turned his head to one side, and the illusion faded. "There is no need to tell me these things, Obi-Wan." His voice was rough. "I already know them. In my heart, I have always known."  
  
Obi-Wan hesitated, suddenly uncertain. He wasn't sure what his Master was referring to, exactly. "Even so, I feel a sudden need to unburden myself of them." He couldn't keep the wry, self- deprecating humor out of his voice.  
  
Qui-Gon's expression immediately softened. "If you feel the need, my Padawan." There was a gentle touch of affection in the words that made Obi-Wan shiver pleasantly, and the chill of the night seemed to withdraw from around him, just a bit.  
  
Obi-Wan was the one to break eye contact this time, feeling suddenly shy. His fingers plucked at the hem of his long robe.  
  
"I suppose I want to tell you how much it meant to me, that you would choose to train me when no one else wanted me."  
  
Now it was Qui-Gon's turn to stare. "Is that what you truly believe, Obi-Wan? That no one wanted you?"  
  
Obi-Wan smiled slightly, without looking up. "No, not really. Not anymore. I know that I'm a good Jedi, that what I do serves a higher purpose. It's just that..."  
  
"It's difficult to be aware of your own worth at times." Qui-Gon sounded as if he understood, which surprised Obi-Wan for reasons that he couldn't define.  
  
"You know what I mean, don't you?" Obi-Wan wasn't quite sure why he felt so unsettled by the thought that his Master might truly understand these deep-rooted feelings. It was disquieting, mainly because he wasn't sure why he hadn't opened up about them before.  
  
"Yes." Another soft smile, holding the cold at bay. "I do."  
  
The silence deepened then, but it was comfortable, without the fragility of emotion that had existed between them just a short while earlier. The steady patter of the rain sounded almost soothing, and the wind seemed to have taken a break from its insistent desire to gain entrance into their cell.  
  
Finally, Obi-Wan asked, "What do you see out there now?"  
  
Qui-Gon's eyes shifted to look at him again, luminous in the stillness. Then his gaze moved back to the window. "I see the yhora tree where we found shelter during the storm on Vagras IX."  
  
Obi-Wan turned to look, seeing only rain-slashed darkness.  
  
Gathering up his robe around him, he moved across the cell to sit beside his Master. After he was securely ensconced once again within the warmth of his robe, he viewed the window from this better vantage point and nodded slowly. With surprising clarity, the memory surfaced. "I see it, too."  
  
Qui-Gon let his head fall back against the wall, and his smile was slightly wistful as he continued, "Its branches formed an umbrella canopy over our heads. Some of the rain still found its way through to us, but I held you to keep away the cold. You were so very trusting in my arms, so young and brave and strong. I could tell that you wanted to cry, but you would not let yourself do so."  
  
"I was terrified." Obi-Wan smiled, remembering. He couldn't have been more than fourteen at the time. The mission to Vagras IX had rapidly fallen from bad to worse, and it had culminated with him and his Master fleeing like fugitives into the wilderness outside the capital, being pursued by an angry mob. They had evaded pursuit easily, but their survival had cost them three days of eking out a bare existence as they found a path to the spaceport south of the city. They had to fight their way through flash floods and carnivorous wildlife before they eventually found the haven they sought, as well as having to avoid the patrols of locals who were searching after them.  
  
"You never showed it." Qui-Gon's voice was proud. "We found victory together that day."  
  
"We lived." Obi-Wan's smile faded, and he shivered, shrugging deeper into his robe. He really couldn't stand the weather on this accursed little planet, and it irked him that they would be forced to spend the final night of their lives struggling against the wind-born chill of this thrice-damned storm.  
  
"What do you see out there now?" Qui-Gon asked, distracting him. Obi-Wan narrowed his gaze at the thin, barred square of luminescence in the wall across from him and chewed his lower lip thoughtfully, being careful not to jar its healing split. The wind howled loudly as it was caught in some heretofore unexplored crevice between the buildings.  
  
"I see the mission we had on Pindarus III. That mining colony with the contract rights to the rim worlds out past Alderaan." "I remember." He could hear the smile in Qui-Gon's voice. Obi-Wan leaned back against the wall, relaxing slightly, and did not move his gaze from the window. "The rulers of the colony were so adamant about not raising our suspicions that they lavished us with every luxury they had at their disposal. Opulent bedsuites, servants, rich foods, every form of entertainment that we could possibly desire..."  
  
Qui-Gon chuckled softly. "I remember you were so overwhelmed by the grandeur of it that you asked permission to sleep in my bed that night. I had to remind you that Jedi must be prepared to survive under any circumstances, no matter how unfamiliar or bizarre."  
  
"But you let me sleep with you anyway. I ... was grateful for that." Obi-Wan felt his face warm slightly. He had been sixteen on that mission, and had been deep in the throes of his dawning sexual awareness, which had culminated with a two-year long crush on his Master. The memory of it embarrassed him now, because Qui-Gon meant so much more to him than their bodies alone could ever share. It was something that he had never discussed with his Master, and it pleased him to think that the older man had never been aware of it.  
  
"Of course I knew, Padawan," Qui-Gon said suddenly, as if he were reading Obi-Wan's mind. Obi-Wan glanced over at him sharply, but the other man was not looking at him.  
  
"Knew?" Obi-Wan echoed nonsensically. He felt his blush deepen. "Of your attraction for me. How could I not?" And now Qui-Gon glanced at him, his face touched with a tender smile. "I was flattered, Obi-Wan. There is no need for embarrassment." Obi-Wan laughed shortly. "Easy for you to say. You're not the one who had to wrestle with his rampaging hormones for two years."  
  
"I assume you found your release elsewhere."  
  
"Well, yes. But it wasn't the same."  
  
"Indeed? And why is that?"  
  
Obi-Wan was startled by the question. It was asked casually, but there was an underlying earnestness to it that caught him unawares. "Because I wasn't pining away for any of my friends at the Temple," he said simply. "I wanted you."  
  
"'Pining away?' Strong words, Padawan."  
  
Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed slightly at the subdued amusement in his Master's tone. "I suppose they are."  
  
In the dimness, Qui-Gon's face was barely visible inside his cowl, but Obi-Wan could make out the soft covering of the beard over the older man's cheeks and chin, the strong arch of nose and brow. It was a face that Obi-Wan had always considered beautiful, and the sight of it had been a comfort to him through all the long years of his apprenticeship. It amazed him that the simple presence of his Master could still be a comfort to him, even now.  
  
Here, at the end of things, it seemed he had spent his entire life in servitude, to the Jedi, to this man, to an ideal that no mere mortal could ever possibly hope to live up to. It was a hard life that he had chosen for himself, and it did not always come with reward. But he had never once wished for more than the strength of this man by his side, the comfort of his Master's presence in his life. Qui-Gon Jinn represented all the reward that Obi-Wan had ever hoped to achieve, and he found it, if not comfortable, at least apt that they were here together now. "We may not die tomorrow," Obi-Wan said softly.  
  
Qui-Gon's eyes were luminous as they turned to look at him. "Although I would not have chosen this end for us, it is possible that our deaths will serve a purpose. The Ngalins need a scapegoat, Obi-Wan. Someone on whom to pile the blame for all of the deaths of their ancestors, to free them of their hatred and give them the focus they need to turn their passions outward once again. The hatred must be purged, my Padawan."  
  
"I suppose two more lives mean next to nothing in their history of blood."  
  
Qui-Gon's eyebrow quirked at the bitterness in his student's tone. "You are still angry."  
  
"Damn right I am." Obi-Wan scowled sullenly and pulled his knees up to his chest in a defensive posture, not caring for the moment what Qui-Gon thought of him.  
  
"No one can foresee the paths along which the Force will lead us. The choices it makes as the future history of the universe is written cannot always be understood." He paused then, and the shadows in his eyes seemed to deepen. "If it helps you any, Obi- Wan, I wish most sincerely that it had been written differently."  
  
The softness in Qui-Gon's voice drew Obi-Wan's gaze back again, inescapable. Obi-Wan was unprepared for the look of naked grief that was apparent on his Master's face. "Master?" he whispered.  
  
Qui-Gon reached out to touch Obi-Wan lightly on the cheek. It was a fleeting caress, there and then gone. "I find that even the fate of worlds pales beside the affection that I hold for you. No matter the purpose it may serve, I would never have chosen this fate for you. And yet, I take comfort in the fact that you are here with me now."  
  
Obi-Wan felt tears sting his eyes. "Me, too. I wish ... I wish I had the words-"  
  
Qui-Gon smiled softly. "I told you, Obi-Wan. You do not need to tell me these things. Because I already know."  
  
It felt like a lance of pure fire striking deep into Obi-Wan's chest. Suddenly, every gesture that Qui-Gon had ever made towards him, every look, every touch, was filled with a weight of momentous consequence. The memories crashed over him in a blinding wave, stealing his breath away, and he reeled under their impact.  
  
Obi-Wan drew in his breath slowly, fighting to regain his equilibrium. "I'm scared," he said at last.  
  
"I know."  
  
Qui-Gon held out his arm, and Obi-Wan leaned into it, feeling the comforting warmth of his Master's body seep into him. The dark heft of his Master's robe was heavy and familiar, its scent, its texture against Obi-Wan's cheek as he huddled close to the other man's chest, sighing in contentment. He felt grounded now, as if all the unrestrained fears and regrets that had been assaulting him were suddenly held at bay, and he closed his eyes, breathing deeply of his Master's presence.  
  
There was silence then, broken only by the wind, the rain, the now-subdued rumble of the thunder in the distance. Qui-Gon's hand curled around Obi-Wan's shoulder as he held him, lending what support and comfort he could.  
  
"How long have you known?" Obi-Wan asked after a moment, once the silence between them started to feel uncomfortable.  
  
He felt Qui-Gon smile against the top of his head, and the arms around him tightened. "For as long as I've known you, I suppose."  
  
Obi-Wan blushed again. "How come I didn't realize it until just now, then?"  
  
"Oh, but you did, Obi-Wan. We know our feelings, even if we don't always understand them."  
  
The words sounded unwontedly cryptic, but Obi-Wan believed he understood them. "You mean we see what we want to see." "Exactly."  
  
Obi-Wan couldn't help but grin slightly at that. It felt familiar, as they fell into the old patterns of teacher and student, and he drew comfort from it. "Then what we perceive actually has an impact on reality, as we perceive it."  
  
Another smile. "There is a school of thought which teaches that nothing at all exists outside of our willingness to believe in it. It's all a matter of perspective, Obi-Wan."  
  
Thunder crashed unexpectedly, making Obi-Wan jump. The accompanying flash of lightning cast their shadows in sharp relief against the wall. Huddled together as they were, the shadow looked as if it belonged to a single being, instead of two, and its outline was both strange and wonderful, bearing only a passing resemblance to humanity. Then there was only darkness again, darkness and the incessant pounding of the rain.  
  
"What do you see when you look at me?" Obi-Wan asked quietly, his voice startling in the sudden stillness of the room.  
  
It was a moment before Qui-Gon responded. He pushed Obi-Wan away from him gently, although he did not remove him from the cover of his robe. Touching one finger to the underside of Obi-Wan's chin, he tipped the younger man's face up to look at him. His thumb ghosted across his Padawan's lower lip, and a brief pulse of tingling warmth signified the healing of the cut there. Obi- Wan stared up at him, his eyes wide.  
  
"I see a handsome young man," Qui-Gon said softly, tracing the line of Obi-Wan's brow with his fingers. "I see a man who has made a selfless commitment to become a Jedi Knight, with absolutely no thought of reward. I see a man whose courage and strength of character has led him to follow a path that few would dare to tread. A man who has consented in his heart to give up his life in order to preserve the harmony of unseeing worlds, to save the countless innocents whose lives would be forfeit if this war were allowed to continue."  
  
Obi-Wan suddenly found it hard to breathe. He could not move his eyes away from Qui-Gon's, as if the man in front of him exuded the gravity of a universe, trapping him irrevocably in the darkened shadows of his eyes.  
  
"It can still be saved, Master," he said, his voice a rasping whisper. There were tears in his eyes, making Qui-Gon's face appear watery, uncertain to his trembling gaze, as if his Master were an illusion that would dissipate if Obi-Wan dared to look away for even a moment. "If the leaders make a unanimous vote for mercy. I know, there are dozens of them, scattered throughout this system, but perhaps the fact that we are willing to make this sacrifice will be enough for them. It may be enough, Qui-Gon."  
  
Qui-Gon's expression was grave. His thumb traced along the curve of Obi-Wan's jaw, a calming gesture. "Anything is possible, Obi- Wan."  
  
Obi-Wan blinked, and the tears at last fell free of the prison of his lashes to slide with the warmth of spilled blood down his cheeks. He ignored them. "I choose to believe that it will be enough."  
  
Qui-Gon smiled. "Enough, when in the depths of their hatred these leaders never once have been able to come to a consensus in the entire history of their race?"  
  
"Yes." Obi-Wan's voice was fierce.  
  
Qui-Gon pulled him close suddenly, enfolding the smaller man's body in the warmth of his hug. "Then I, also, choose to believe it," he whispered harshly, his breath warm over Obi-Wan's ear. Now that the floodgate of his tears had been opened, Obi-Wan could not hold them back. Qui-Gon held him as he cried, rocking him slightly, and even the fury of the storm outside seemed to fade to nothing beyond the comfort of his Master's touch.  
  
At last, the torrent of emotion subsided, and Obi-Wan pulled away slightly, wiping at his cheeks with the back of one hand. Qui- Gon smiled at him, and Obi-Wan smiled tentatively in return.  
  
"I'm not afraid to die," Obi-Wan said, and it surprised him to realize that this was so.  
  
Qui-Gon trailed his fingers lightly over the younger man's lips. "I know you're not." His voice was taut with an underlying layer of grief, but the grief was overshadowed by a note of fierce pride.  
  
Obi-Wan felt warmed by his Master's approval. It made the horror of their situation feel somehow distanced from him, as if it no longer had the power to touch him.  
  
No matter the understandings between them, Obi-Wan knew that he had to say it, just once, before the dawn. Holding his Master's gaze steadily, he said, "I love you, Qui-Gon."  
  
Qui-Gon smiled, a gentle, tender expression, and cupped Obi-Wan's face between his hands. The lingering traces of Obi-Wan's tears seemed to evaporate immediately against the warmth of his palms. "I love you, too, Obi-Wan."  
  
Obi-Wan closed his eyes, fighting back the scream that wanted to rise in his throat, and curled his hands like claws in the folds of his Master's robe. It seemed unbearably tragic that he should hear these words now, on the eve of the day that would mark the end of their lives.  
  
Qui-Gon's hands on his face soothed him. "Peace, Obi-Wan," he chastised gently, and before Obi-Wan realized what was happening, Qui-Gon kissed him.  
  
Immediately, the scope of the galaxy for Obi-Wan narrowed to the feel of his Master's lips, the soft brush of his beard, the heady scent of his skin. Obi-Wan moaned as he felt the other man's tongue flicker a whisper-soft invitation at the entrance to his mouth. He parted his lips on a sigh, and that velvet tongue slipped inside of him, exploring the deepest parts of him. It was a moment before he could find the wits to respond.  
  
It seemed the most natural thing in the world when they moved to touch one another, hands sliding reverently over the rough nap of their tunics and robes, as if they were seeking to silently memorize the contours of each other's bodies. Obi-Wan closed his eyes as Qui-Gon's lips trailed down over the edge of his jaw to suckle at the skin of his throat, and a small moan escaped him, his hands clutching at the sleeves of his Master's robe.  
  
Qui-Gon pulled away slightly, his eyes bright in the dimness of the cell. Obi-Wan stared at him, completely caught up in the desire that he saw there. He could feel the older man's breath as it wafted past the skin of his face, and he felt a small thrill at the thought that the air he was breathing had been inside his Master's body. It amused him that even this small intimacy was enough to bring him joy.  
  
"I never intended to share these feelings with you under these circumstances," Qui-Gon said with a wry twist of his lips. His fingers brushed against Obi-Wan's cheek, sliding down his throat to trace the line of the tunic across the younger man's chest.  
  
"I love you, Obi-Wan. I have always loved you." He chuckled dryly. "And now I cannot seem to keep my hands off of you. Please feel free to tell a foolish old man to keep his hands to himself, my Padawan."  
  
Obi-Wan closed his hands convulsively around Qui-Gon's wrists, holding them to him. "Please," he whispered, unable to look away from his Master's eyes. Any further plea was lost to him as he recognized the desire that he saw there.  
  
Qui-Gon kissed him again, and this time Obi-Wan responded eagerly, drinking in the other man's essence as if he could not live without it. Gods, how long had he dreamed of this, without even knowing that this was what he craved? To be held in Qui- Gon's arms, to be kissed in this way, to be touched, to be loved as something dearer than life itself. It was like a dream, a wondrous fantasy that was being brought into existence by the pulse of the storm, throbbing in his veins with the rhythm of heart and storm and soul, until he could not tell where the fantasy left off and reality began.  
  
"It's real," Qui-Gon whispered, and Obi-Wan shivered. He was on his back now, cushioned against the hard surface of the floor by the thickness of his robe, and Qui-Gon's body was spread out over him. He felt dizzy, disoriented, but the sight of his Master's face anchored him.  
  
"I love you," Obi-Wan said, reaching up to touch his Master's beard. Qui-Gon bent his head into the caress and kissed the tips of the younger man's fingers.  
  
"I cherish you." Qui-Gon's voice was rough. He nipped at the pad of Obi-Wan's hand, earning a low gasp, and he smiled at the naked arousal that rose into Obi-Wan's face. "Let me do this for you, Obi-Wan."  
  
The request was simply made, without pressure or fanfare, and Obi-Wan found that he could only nod dumbly in response to it. His entire universe was comprised of this man's eyes and the touch of his large hands. That, and the pulse of the love between them, which was almost as much a physical presence in the air as the wind that swirled around them.  
  
Obi-Wan had to look away as Qui-Gon slid down the length of his torso, his vision blurring as he stared up at the ceiling above him. His body was coming alive under Qui-Gon's touch, as the bigger man's hands moved over him, touching, claiming, driving his senses to a state of fevered arousal. Obi-Wan clenched his fists in the robe to either side of him, his back arching as the sensations coursed through him. The sense of the storm around him was cataclysmic, and he shivered as a stray tendril of wind brushed across the exposed skin of his chest, where his tunics had fallen open.  
  
The chill was immediately banished as Qui-Gon's mouth closed over the hardened length of his penis. Obi-Wan shouted hoarsely as that soft, wet heat engulfed him, and his hands moved to Qui- Gon's head, where his fingers immediately entwined themselves into the other man's hair. Qui-Gon's hands on his thighs soothed him, but the Jedi Master made no move to inhibit his Padawan's reactions.  
  
Obi-Wan groaned aloud at the tacit permission and tightened his grip on Qui-Gon's hair. Very carefully, he held his Master's head in place as he began to make love to that impossibly warm chasm, moving his hips in a slow rise and fall that made his breath catch on the beginnings of a scream. The friction of Qui- Gon's mouth on his cock was so hot, so tight, and this was *Qui- Gon*, his Master, the man that he loved...  
  
"Gods," Obi-Wan gasped, feeling the world constrict around him. Despite his best efforts to be gentle, he started to thrust harder, more demandingly. Qui-Gon made no sound of protest, and only increased the delicious pressure he was applying to his Padawan's heated flesh. Obi-Wan keened, his head thrown back as his entire body arched up into his Master's touch, his muscles straining as he thrust and thrust, deep into that clinging heat. Obi-Wan came with an explosive cry, and the world broke apart around him. The cell, the wind, the rain, the thunder that seemed intent on shattering the foundations of the world... all of it ceased to exist as the orgasm coursed through him in liquid waves of almost unbearable ecstasy. It seemed to go on forever, and when it was over, he felt drained, as if he had expelled some vital part of himself in the loosing of his pleasure.  
  
Qui-Gon's hand on his face brought him back to himself, and Obi- Wan opened his eyes slowly. He was not surprised to feel fresh tears on his cheeks, and he smiled as he took in the delightful vision that hovered above him. Qui-Gon's lips were swollen, eyes bright in his flushed face. His hair was in wanton disarray, and Obi-Wan was awed by the completely seductive picture that the other man made. This was a side of his Master that he'd never seen before, and it thrilled him.  
  
Qui-Gon was smiling, and there was a look in his eyes that Obi- Wan couldn't quite define. He felt an unaccountable twinge of agony as he read the blatant love in his Master's stare. He touched Qui-Gon's face lightly, lingering over the curve of the other man's lips.  
  
"Thank you," he whispered.  
  
Qui-Gon's expression softened, and he held Obi-Wan's hand loosely, rubbing his thumb in slow circles across the younger man's palm. He pressed a soft kiss to the backs of Obi-Wan's knuckles and closed his eyes briefly. "You're welcome, my love, and more."  
  
Obi-Wan cupped his hand around Qui-Gon's cheek, feeling the softness of his Master's beard brush across the skin of his palm. "Would you let me-"  
  
"No," Qui-Gon's voice was soft, but firm. His expression was somber as he gazed down at his young lover, although his eyes still smiled. "Not yet. I just want to look at you, just as you are now, in the aftermath of your passion." He traced the line of Obi-Wan's brow with one finger. "I have never in my life seen a sight more beautiful, beloved."  
  
Obi-Wan fell speechless under the quietly voiced declaration, and Qui-Gon took the opportunity to lean down for another kiss. This one was gentle, revering, the softest brush of lips before a slight touch of tongues deepened it. When they finally pulled apart, Obi-Wan's eyes were closed, and his whole body was tingling with a subdued warmth that seemed to outshine the violence of the storm.  
  
He laughed as Qui-Gon brushed a light kiss across the tip of his nose. When he opened his eyes again, he saw the other man's eyes burning out of the darkness in front of him. They still seemed to be the only points of color in the room, but there was a weight of gravity and emotion to them now that took Obi-Wan's breath away. To his absolute astonishment, he thought he saw the glimmering of tears there.  
  
Obi-Wan's smile faltered. "I don't want to lose you, Qui-Gon." "You won't." Qui-Gon's voice was firm. "Not even if the worst should happen."  
  
"But you don't know that."  
  
"I choose to believe it."  
  
Obi-Wan felt the sting of tears in his eyes again. Taking a deep breath, he said, "Then I choose to believe it, too."  
  
Qui-Gon kissed him again, tenderly, and then they lay back against the floor together, both of them ensconced within the securing folds of the Jedi Master's robe. Obi-Wan's hand found Qui-Gon's, and their fingers twined tightly together, holding each other palm to palm. Around them, the storm raged on.  
  
"I don't believe we're going to die," Obi-Wan said, his voice soft. He closed his eyes as Qui-Gon's arms slid more tightly around him. "Or if we are, it won't matter much."  
  
Qui-Gon said nothing in reply, but he pressed a light kiss to the top of his Padawan's head.  
  
Together, they lay in companionable silence and listened to the storm, waiting for whatever their fates saw fit to bring them.    
  
The End 


End file.
